


The Beauty and the Horse’s Ass

by stjarna



Series: Writing Prompts / Drabbles / Requests [19]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Bus Kids - Freeform, F/M, Fitz and Daisy are total potty mouths so expect some swearing, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Masquerade, Roommates, Swearing, Tumblr: thefitzsimmonsnetwork, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9679796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Written for lostgirl966 as part of Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine organized by The Fitzsimmons Network on Tumblr.Prompt: Fitz and Simmons at a masquerade





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostgirl966](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostgirl966/gifts).



> Thanks dilkirani and agentcalliope for the amazing beta (and hilarious comments!)

Fitz squints his eyes in disbelief when he sees the people walking up the stone steps to the banquet hall as Daisy pulls her car into an open parking spot.

“Umm, Daisy?” he mutters. “What _exactly_ does the invitation to this thing say?”

“I told you, it’s a costume party,” Daisy replies, turning off the car.

“Nonono,” Fitz interjects. “What. _Exactly._ Does. The. Invitation. Say?” he repeats enunciating each word slowly, staring at his roommate.

Daisy returns his glare and leans over to open the glove compartment to retrieve the invitation.

“There you go,” she says with a hint of annoyance in her voice, pointing at the card in front of her. “It’s a costume party. A masquerade! Just like I said!”

Fitz lets his head fall back against the headrest. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me!” he exclaims.

“What?” Daisy asks, confused.

“A masquerade is _not_ a bloody costume party, Daisy!”

“Sure it is,” Daisy tries to interject, but the annoyance is replaced by nervousness, her voice wavering just enough to hear.

“No,” Fitz replies, slumping his shoulders. “It’s… it’s… _this_!” He gestures towards the building, where people dressed in beautiful and elaborate Renaissance costumes walk up the stairs, their faces covered with Venetian masks. “It’s feathers and pearls and hoop skirts and weird trousers and bloody masks! _Masks_ , Daisy! As in … _masqu_ erade!”

“Fuck,” Daisy mutters quietly.

“Ugh,” Fitz groans. “God! I can’t believe this. _You_ convinced me to go to this thing so you wouldn’t have to attend the first big work event at your new job by yourself. _You_ convinced me to play a horse’s _arse_ for your bloody two-man horse costume idea, because—and I quote—‘it’ll be fucking hilarious!’ And now it’s a bloody _masquerade_? Daisy? What the hell?”

“Well,” Daisy turns defensive, “maybe _you_ should’ve checked the invitation too!”

“It’s _your_ bloody work party!” Fitz counters in frustration.

Daisy takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, rubbing her forehead. “I fucked up. I thought it was a costume party. I’m not familiar with the finer nuances of costume party terminology.”

Fitz sighs. He knows Daisy meant no harm, that she was as surprised as he was. “Alright, so what do you wanna do now?”

Daisy inhales slowly, looking past Fitz out the car window at the people dressed up for her company’s party.

“We go in,” she says quietly but with determination.

“You sure?” Fitz asks.

“Yes,” Daisy confirms. “It’s the first big party since I’ve started working there. I’m still trying to find my place. It’s a fundraiser for [Stomp Out Bullying](http://stompoutbullying.org), so it’s for a good cause that I actually _really_ care about because… well, I’ve had my share of bullying. _And_ , _lastly_ , I know _Hottie_ will be there.”

“You said you’d find out his name,” Fitz mumbles quietly, but Daisy ignores his comment.

“And who knows, maybe making an idiot out of myself by showing up in a two-man horse costume to a masquerade will be one of those funny memorable anecdotes that my coworkers will tease me with for years to come and it might help me fit in better. Get me noticed in a hilarious way, right?”

“I assume I have no way of getting out of this?” Fitz asks without much hope.

“You’re the ass to my face, Fitz. I need you!” Daisy replies, reaching for Fitz’s shoulder and looking pleadingly into his eyes.

“Fine,” Fitz agrees begrudgingly.

“Hey, at least you don’t work there… _and_ no one will see your face,” Daisy offers reassuringly.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this before I change my mind,” Fitz tells her, opening the door to exit the car.

“Thanks, Fitz,” Daisy calls after him and gets out of the car herself. She opens the backdoor to pull out a huge plushy-looking horse head and puts it over her face. “See,” she says in a muffled voice, pointing at herself. “It’s a mask…ish.”

Fitz wrinkles his forehead. “Emphasis on _ish_ , I’d say.”

“Come on now,” Daisy says enthusiastically and waddles around the car to Fitz. She slaps him on the shoulder, and reaches back to lift the piece of fabric that he has to hide under. “You’ll look dashing!”

Fitz glares at her.

“Get it?” Daisy adds. “Like ‘dashing through the snow?’”

“Punny,” Fitz grumbles sarcastically, staring at Daisy in disgust. “Very punny.”

He looks down at the large brown pair of costume trousers and the oversized black hoof-shaped shoes he’s wearing. Then he lets his head fall back and grunts in frustration. “Why can’t I say no to people? _Why?_ ”

“Because you love me!” Daisy sings.

Fitz sighs, before grabbing the backside of Daisy’s costume and sticking his head in the hole made for his upper body.

“You owe me!” he exclaims, struggling to get into the right position, placing his hands on Daisy’s hips to steady himself as he bends forward.

“Yeah, yeah,” he hears Daisy’s muffled voice. “Our signed agreement is at home on the kitchen table. No worries. I won’t forget. Now, let’s go. Left. Right. On three. One. Two. Three.”

And with that Fitz awkwardly follows Daisy’s steps, praying that he won’t stumble and fall to make the evening worse than it already was.

* * *

“So, yeah, apparently I still have a _lot_ to learn when it comes to the difference between costume parties and masquerades,” Daisy finishes her explanatory story for what feels like the fiftieth time, while Fitz can feel his sweaty shirt sticking to his back. He rolls his shoulders back and tries to carefully move his torso side to side to counteract the stiffness the awkward bent-over position is causing him.

“Well, I applaud your bravery for participating anyway once you realized your mistake,” the woman Daisy is talking to remarks. “And kudos to your friend for playing along.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Price,” Daisy replies. “And yes, my friend Fitz deserves a _medal_ for what I’m putting him through tonight. But it’s for a good cause, so that makes the slight embarrassment worth it for sure!”

“Well, I hope you enjoy the party, Miss Johnson,” Price says. “Who knows, maybe there’ll be an honorary prize for the most unusual costume later on?”

“Oh God, please don’t,” Daisy chuckles, basking in the attention. “I think my friend would kill me if I draw any _more_ attention than I already have!”

* * *

“I think I’m actually melting in here,” Fitz mumbles once he’s convinced that Daisy’s boss has excused herself. “Remind me why I’m doing this again?”

“I’m responsible for dinner and dishes for two weeks. You have total Netflix control for a month. Free booze here. And I’ll bid on anything you want at the silent auction, making a real effort to actually get it,” Daisy rattles down the terms of the agreement. “Plus, you’re my best friend and roommate and I was too chicken to go by myself and you can’t say no to people to save your life.”

“Ah, yes, that last part, _especially_ that last part,” Fitz mutters. He lifts one hand off Daisy’s hip and gently pokes her in the side. “I have yet to see any of that free booze by the way.”

“How would you even drink?” he hears her muffled reply.

“Get me a straw or something,” Fitz remarks. “Seriously. Melting. Actually melting! If I don’t get fluids in me soon, you’ll be dragging a _dead_ horse’s arse behind yourself!”

“I’ll see what I can do!” Daisy replies.

“And while you’re at it, maybe hand me a snack or something?” Fitz adds, feeling his stomach grumble. “There must be trays going around, right?”

“Will do,” Daisy agrees. “Left. Right. On Three.”

* * *

“Okay, I’ve gotta go to the little horse’s room.” Daisy tells him, about forty minutes later.

“I’m _not_ following you to the loo!” Fitz replies in protest.

“Nah, of course not,” Daisy says, and Fitz is relieved when he feels her pulling off her part of the costume.

He squints his eyes at the sudden brightness of the banquet hall and moans when he notices that he can barely straighten up without every bone in his body aching.

“Ugh! I can just hear the doctor tomorrow. ‘Tell me again how you hurt your back, Mr. Fitz.’ – ‘Oh, you know, I’m an _idiot_ who walked bent over with his best friend’s _bum_ in his face for an entire evening,’” Fitz complains, pushing his hands into his back and trying to loosen his stiff spine.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Daisy says, one corner of her mouth pulled up apologetically, the gigantic horse head cradled in her arm. “You’re my hero though. Fo-shizzles!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fitz mutters, looking at her out of the corners of his eyes, a weak smile playing on his lips. “Now go and take a piss!” he adds, nodding towards the entrance area.

“Will do,” Daisy replies. “Oh, and while I’m at it, I might head outside for some fresh air,” she adds, fidgeting to pull a pack of cigarettes from the small pocket on the side of the costume.

“Great,” Fitz groans, tilting his head to the side. “So later I’m not only gonna be stuck behind your bum, but it’ll smell like smoke, too?”

“Dude, I’m not known to blow smoke out of my ass,” Daisy replies cheekily.

“I thought you wanted to quit,” Fitz reminds her.

“Yeah. I’ll save that for a day when I’m _not_ making an ass out of myself for misinterpreting the fancy masqueraaaade invite from my new work place,” Daisy counters. “Although, admittedly, we all know who’s the ass tonight,” she adds teasingly, patting his cheek before prancing backwards away towards the foyer.

Fitz glares at her as she leaves, but when a waiter walks past him, he takes the opportunity to grab a champagne flute from the tray before heading for the wall closest to the foyer. Thirstily, he takes a big gulp from the glass, feeling a shudder run through his body as the bubbly drink makes its way to his stomach.

“Oh God,” he mumbles to himself in disgust. “I forgot I hate champagne.”

He’s still trying to shake off the taste of his drink when he notices a woman in a wide, ruffled, yellow ball gown walking towards him. Her arms are covered with lace gloves matching the color of her dress. Part of her hair is in an intricate up-do, while the rest of her brown, wavy mane falls gently down to her shoulders. Her entire face is covered with an elaborately decorated Venetian mask.

“Well, someone isn’t taking the theme of the party very seriously,” she addresses him, and Fitz immediately notices her English accent.

“That someone would be my roommate,” Fitz replies, slightly grumpily, but something about her voice makes him add a friendly smile to his reply. “Apparently, she doesn’t know the difference between a costume party and a masquerade.”

“So, you’re in costume?” the woman asks, sounding slightly confused.

“Half a costume,” Fitz replies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, which feels sweaty and sticky. “We’re a horse. I’m the… the behind,” he explains, turning slightly to the side to reveal the fake tail. “Her idea,” he adds, almost apologetically.

“Oh, fascinating,” she replies. “I’m actually an avid rider.”

Fitz almost chokes on his drink.

“Oh God,” she exclaims. “I mean… I mean, horses, I actually am an avid rider of horses. Real horses.”

“Right, right,” Fitz replies, trying to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. That was a bit juvenile of me.”

She chuckles. “Quite alright,” she replies. “So a horse’s arse? Oh, that must be terribly uncomfortable? Constantly bent over?”

“You have _no_ idea,” Fitz remarks, trying once again to stretch his aching back.

“So, the upper half, or front, or… I’m not quite sure how to describe it… Where’s she now?” the woman inquires.

“Loo,” Fitz states matter-of-factly. “And to grab a smoke,” he adds, grimacing in disgust.

“Or maybe she doesn’t exist,” she replies, tilting her head. Fitz can only imagine that she’s smiling mischievously behind her feathered mask.

He squints his eyes in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Maybe you’re _far_ cleverer than you let on,” she explains. “Maybe you are just _saying_ that you’re a horse’s arse waiting for the other half to return, when in _fact_ , you’re simply rebelling against the masquerade theme forced on us by our bosses?”

“I don’t even work here,” Fitz replies, shrugging his shoulders.

“I was joking,” she remarks, slightly slumping her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz apologizes. “This whole evening has been—”

“Out of your comfort zone?” she asks.

“Very much so!”

“I know the feeling,” she admits. “Although, strangely enough, the fact that I am wearing a mask is actually making me _more_ confident. Like I can speak my mind without anyone recognizing me.”

“I don’t work at your company, so with or without mask, I wouldn’t recognize you, so… I don’t think the fact that you’re talking to _me_ means that you’re more confident,” Fitz teases her. He’s beginning to enjoy the conversation with this masked stranger.

“On the contrary,” she replies cheekily. “The fact that I’m comfortably talking to a complete and very attractive stranger should make—”

“I’m attractive?” Fitz interrupts her, surprised.

“I didn’t say that,” she exclaims and takes a small step back.

“Yes, you did,” Fitz replies, wrinkling his forehead and pointing at her.

Her chest rises and drops as she exhales sharply. “Alright,” she admits. “Yes, I did.”

Fitz’s gaze drops to the floor. “I’ve been sweating my bum off in this thing for _two_ hours. I didn’t even _shower_ before I came here. My hair must be a sweaty, curly mess, and… and… I’m _attractive_?” He looks back up at the mysterious woman in front of him.

“Surely I’m not the first person to tell you that.”

“First person who doesn’t sound like she’s pulling my leg,” Fitz mutters quietly.

“Well, there you go,” the woman says, gesturing at Fitz. “The mask has allowed me to admit to a _complete_ stranger that I find him attractive. Believe me that would not _necessarily_ have happened under different circumstances.”

“Huh!” Fitz chuckles. “Suddenly this party doesn’t seem so bad.”

He notices her shifting nervously. Her eyes are barely visible through the small holes of the mask, but Fitz imagines they’re smiling at him.

“You know,” he says, gesturing up and down at her dress. “Your dress reminds me of something...”

“Really?” she asks, leaning slightly closer. “Does it ring a… _bell_?”

Fitz wrinkles his forehead at her slightly strange reply. “Does it ring a—? A bell?” he repeats confused, until it clicks. “Oh… _right!_ Belle! It’s the dress from _The Beauty and the Beast_.”

He pauses and mutters to himself. “I wonder how many coolness points Hunter will deduct for admitting that I’ve watched _The Beauty and the Beast_.”

The stranger laughs quietly. “Well, I don’t think you’ll lose coolness points for watching a Disney movie as a child!” she remarks. “Guys can’t be _that_ cruel, can they now?”

“Who says I watched it as a child?” Fitz replies, grinning cheekily.

She chuckles. “Well, _I_ will _re_ -reward you any points your friend intends to take away from you, then, because _I_ think it only makes you _more_ interesting.”

He smiles at her sweet comment. “So, I take it you like _The Beauty and the Beast_?” he asks.

“A strong, independent, highly intelligent, well-read young woman with goals and aspirations _beyond_ romance embarks on an adventure and saves an entire castle from a wicked spell, including a not-too-shabby-looking prince? What’s not to like?” the woman answers, shimmying her shoulders playfully.

“Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to,” Fitz replies, smiling widely. “Are you excited about the live-action adaptation, then?”

“Well, _naturally_!” she huffs, tilting her head to the side.

“So you just had that dress lying at home?” Fitz asks, curiously.

“It’s the _only_ cosplay I own and it seemed fitting enough to wear for tonight and save myself some money renting a full Renaissance costume. The mask _alone_ was expensive enough,” she says, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “Please don’t make fun of me for it,” she adds more quietly.

“Fun of you?” Fitz exclaims, gesturing at her dress. “It’s beautiful. _And_ has _amazing_ detail! I should show you my _Doctor Who_ costume!” he adds enthusiastically. “Unless I just ruined any chance of ever speaking to you again by admitting that I _have_ a _Doctor Who_ costume,” he mutters quietly.

“Might depend on which Doctor,” the stranger remarks to Fitz’s surprise.

He stares at her for a moment, assessing the situation, before admitting, “Fifth.”

“Celery stick and all?” she asks, matter-of-factly, and he can’t detect any sign of mockery in her question.

“Yep,” he confirms.

“Well, now you’ve _certainly_ made me curious!” she says suggestively, taking a step towards Fitz.

He notices his heart beating a bit faster and is about to say something in return, when a less-than-gentle slap on his shoulder interrupts them, making him spill half of the champagne he’d been clinging on to during his conversation.

“There you are, dude. Sorry for the delay, but—let me tell ya’—taking a piss in this thing is _not_ a walk in the park. And _then_ I ran into the hottie that I was telling you about outside while _not_ smoking, ‘cause he doesn’t like smoking, but damn he can flirt! He was outside to _actually_ get fresh air. So there, that’s settled. No more smoking. Anyway, I couldn’t let the opportunity slide, so I chatted him up, and _by the way_ he thought my costume was absolutely _hil-ar-ious_ and I’m fairly certain he’ll remember me from this day on out so I can move on to phase two—asking him out—in the foreseeable future. Now, let’s get you back under that thing. My ass’s been lonely without your face there,” Daisy rambles on underneath her horse head, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’d been talking to someone, while Fitz stares at her in disbelief, wiping champagne from his sweaty shirt.

“Dude?” Daisy adds when Fitz doesn’t respond.

“I was having a conversation,” Fitz explains, gesturing towards the woman in the yellow gown.

“Oh,” Daisy exclaims, surprised. “Hi, I’m Daisy Johnson, IT,” she adds, confidently stretching out her hand.

“Jemma Simmons, Science and Technology. Biochemist, to be precise,” the woman replies, accepting Daisy’s handshake.

“Oh, yeahyeahyeah,” Daisy remarks, waving her index finger at the biochemist. “I recognize your name! You sent the e-mails! I’ll to stop by your lab on Monday to fix the server problem. Didn’t get around to it Friday.”

“That would be _quite_ wonderful,” Jemma replies. “It’s been a _nightmare_. Sharing data has been next to impossible… You’ll have to talk to Bobbi Morse though. I will be at a conference until Wednesday.”

“Yep, no problem, will do!” Daisy stammers, prancing from one foot to the other, looking nervously over at Fitz. “Umm, yeah, so… ummm, I’m gonna go and take my horse face elsewhere, while you guys… chat.” She gestures with both thumbs towards the banquet hall, and slowly takes a few steps to the side. “See you later,” she tells Fitz, before turning around and heading towards the bar.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Fitz mumbles apologetically, staring at the floor, but trying to lift his eyes far enough to look at her masked face.

“Well, it was really quite nice to meet your… other half,” she jokes.

Fitz chuckles and stretches out his hand. “I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz… Well, just Fitz, actually. Please.”

“Just Fitz?” she asks, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“Not too fond of Leopold. Only my mum calls me that,” he explains.

“Oh,” she remarks, noticeably surprised.

“Wow, I just managed to bring our conversation to a crashing halt, didn’t I?” Fitz says, slightly annoyed with himself.

Jemma laughs. “I think that was your friend more than anyone else.”

He chuckles. “So, you’re a biochemist?” he tries to steer the conversation back to a more interesting subject than his first name.  
  
“Yes.”

“What’s your specialty?”

“Life sciences originally, but I’ve expanded quite a bit into other fields.”

“Impressive,” Fitz remarks truthfully, raising his eyebrows in admiration. “I’ve worked on some bioengineering projects. You guys are crazy smart.”

“So you’re an—?”

“Engineer, yes. I work for your competition actually,” Fitz explains. “Although I don’t really know how far our markets overlap to be honest. Oh God, don’t tell anyone I said that, or they’ll think I’m here for espionage or something.”

Jemma laughs out loud. “You’re the _only_ person here _not_ wearing a mask. That would be the worst attempt at espionage I’ve _ever_ heard of.”

Fitz joins her laughter, but when a waiter walks by with an empty tray, he takes the opportunity to finally rid himself of his champagne flute. When his focus shifts back to Jemma, he falls silent.

“What?” Jemma asks, seemingly confused by his sudden seriousness.

“It’s just,” Fitz hesitates to tell her the truth. But then, they’d been talking quite honestly up to this point. _What the hell_ , he thinks. “Have you ever spoken to someone on the phone and you start to wonder what they look like based on their voice… their way of talking?”

Jemma tilts her head, and Fitz tries to imagine what the smile behind her mask may look like. “Well, it’s a masquerade. You’ll have to live with the mystery,” she says teasingly.

“Fair enough,” Fitz sighs. “It’s a cruel world we live in,” he adds jokingly.

“Okay, dude—” Fitz slowly turns his head towards Daisy who has once again appeared out of nowhere. He rolls his eyes in frustration, as Daisy continues speaking, still wearing her horse head. “Sorry to interrupt again and all that, but Hottie—”

“You’re _eventually_ gonna start calling him by his real name, right?” Fitz interrupts her.

“Yesyesyesyesyes, of course,” Daisy replies unconvincingly. “ _Anyways_! Hottie wants to see the whole horse, so you’re gonna have to come with me. Please, _pleeeeeeease_!” She looks at him, tilting the large fake head, pressing her hands together, begging for his help.

Fitz knows her well enough to imagine the sad puppy eyes hiding behind her costume. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. Then he exhales sharply and stares at his roommate. “Do you know how many favors you owe me by now?”

“I’m sure you’ve kept score,” Daisy replies, a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Fitz requests, his head gesturing towards Jemma who’s been waiting patiently.

Daisy puts her hands on his shoulders and jumps up and down in excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She straightens back up. “I’ll wait over there,” she adds gesturing to the side with both thumbs.

Once she’s out of hearing range, Fitz looks back at Jemma.

“Sooooooo—” he mutters, his left fist nervously jabbing against the palm of his right hand.

“Your arse… _es_ are needed,” Jemma remarks jokingly.

Fitz chuckles. “Indeed,” he replies, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Well, I’m actually going to leave soon,” Jemma says, shrugging her shoulders. “I have a _very_ early flight to the conference I mentioned earlier.”

“Oh. Ummm, right,” Fitz stammers, glancing over to where Daisy is waiting for him. “It was nice meeting you, Jemma,” he says and stretches out his hand.

“Likewise,” Jemma replies, accepting his handshake.

Fitz knows he’s probably exceeding the societally acceptable length of time for shaking someone’s hand, but his palm seems to be magnetically fused with hers. He swallows. There’ll never be a better moment than now.

“I’m… I’m… I’m probably pushing my luck here,” he says hoarsely, knowing that mild dehydration isn’t the only reason why his mouth feels so dry right now. “But could I get your phone number? M-m-maybe we could go out sometime, grab a coffee, tea, bundle of hay, bucket of water?”

Jemma laughs. “You don’t even know what I look like,” she observes mischievously.

His eyes wander briefly up and down the masked woman in her intricate yellow ball gown. The corners of his mouth quirk up into a content smile. “A) I don’t care,” he replies. “And B) I have a feeling I won’t be disappointed.”

He hears her snicker. “Can you even reach your phone?” Jemma inquires, gesturing at him.

Fitz looks down at his costume trousers, the expanders holding it up. He glances towards the back, where the thick fabric is covering his entire back. “I hate this costume,” he growls, shaking his head.

Jemma chuckles and opens her small purse, pulling out her phone. “What’s your number then? I’ll call it and then _you’ll_ have _my_ number… and… _I’ll_ have _yours_.”

Without hesitation, Fitz gives her his phone number. She creates a new contact for him and dials the number.

“My bum’s vibrating,” Fitz notices.

Jemma laughs. “And with that joyous feeling, I’ll let you go to help your friend impress ‘the hottie.’” She adds air quotes to the final word.

“It was wonderful meeting you, Jemma,” Fitz tells her.

“You’ve already said that,” she replies teasingly.

“Still true though!”

“Likewise, Fitz,” Jemma says, and leaves, gently grabbing his biceps in passing.

Fitz watches her and sighs. Then his eyes wander to Daisy, who grins and quickly walks over to him.

“Ready to meet Hottie?” she asks, giving him two thumbs up.

“Don’t know how much I’ll actually meet him with my face behind your bum and all that,” Fitz replies. “Maybe he and I could switch?” he suggests.

“Yeah, I’m not sure we’re at that point in our relationship yet. Plus, he won’t _ever_ be the ass that you are,” Daisy comments snarkily.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ugh, I hate you, Daisy. Bloody hate you. Actually and truly and really hate you,” Fitz says, as Daisy drags him up the stairs to their apartment two hours later, his arm wrapped around her neck. “Every bone in my body hurts. My spine doesn’t want to move anymore, and I’ve never felt more disgusting and sweaty in my _life_.”

“Okay, okay I get it. You’re sore,” Daisy grunts, noticeably exhausted from almost having to carry him up every step of the way.

“I know you’ve been miserable all evening,” she continues, and carefully leans him against the wall next to their apartment door before reaching for her keys.

“And I’m sorry for making you stay so long,” she adds, opening the door, before pulling his arm back around her neck to help him inside.

“ _And_ for interrupting the chat you had with that biochemist.” Daisy lets go of him and closes the door. Fitz leans his back against the wall right next to the entrance and closes his eyes.

“ _And_ for making you parade around as my ass in front of Hottie,” Daisy continues.

“But let me just tell you,” she remarks, putting her hands on his shoulders, making him wince and open his tired eyes. “You’re the most amazing friend a girl could wish for, Fitz, and I _know_ I owe you big time, but I’m so so so _so_ grateful that you came along.” She smiles at him. “ _Seriously!_ Words cannot express and all that shit.”

Fitz chuckles weakly, and takes a deep breath. “You _do_ owe me big time,” he replies, lifting his aching arms to squeeze Daisy’s shoulders. “ _But!_ ” he continues. “I met someone truly fascinating and that doesn’t happen very often… or _ever_ —”

“You’ve met _me_!” Daisy interjects, putting on an exaggerated grin.

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “—sooo,” he continues, “while meeting Jemma doesn’t _quite_ make up for the excruciating physical pain I’m currently in, it _definitely_ makes the evening not feel like a complete waste of time.”

Daisy chuckles, before gently patting him on the shoulders. “Beer?” she suggests, gesturing towards the kitchen with her thumb.

“Oh dear god yes!” Fitz exclaims, letting his head drop back before pushing himself away from the wall. “I _hate_ champagne,” he adds, following Daisy to the kitchen. “And the food was … _weird_.”

“I’ll order us some pizza,” Daisy suggests, swinging open the door to the fridge. “And I want to know everything that happened so I can start preparing my best man toast!”

“Bloody hell, woman,” Fitz moans. “You’re _insufferable_ … But yes to the pizza!”

Daisy coyly smiles and pulls a beer from the fridge, offering it to Fitz.

“You know what? I think I’ll shower first,” Fitz declines her offer.

“You got it,” Daisy replies and instead opens the bottle for herself.

* * *

Fitz returns just fifteen minutes later wearing comfy pajama bottoms and a fresh t-shirt, his curly hair still wet.

“Pizza will be here soon,” Daisy says and finally hands him his own bottle of beer, which he gladly accepts. “FYI: your phone buzzed like thirty seconds ago, and I _swear_ I didn’t look,” she adds, but Fitz knows her well enough not to trust that last statement.

Fitz sighs and shakes his head, reaching for his phone on the counter while taking a sip from his beer.

He goes to his messages and starts coughing violently, covering his mouth, trying to prevent a mess, when the beer goes down the wrong pipe as soon as he sees the picture he has received from one _Jemma Simmons_ together with a text:

> _This is me, showered, no makeup, mask-free, and finally all packed and ready to catch a couple of hours of sleep before having to go to the airport!_

She’s wearing a grey comfy hoody. Her seemingly wet hair is put up in a messy bun. Her long lashes accentuate her hazel brown eyes, which seem to be smiling as much as her beautiful full lips.

“Holy shit,” Fitz mutters once his coughing-fit has stopped.

“What?” Daisy asks, looking over his shoulder. “There’s a picture too?”

All Fitz manages is a silent nod as he continues to stare at the gentle brown eyes and freckled nose looking back at him in the photograph.

“Nu-hice!” Daisy exclaims.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Fitz mumbles quietly, letting his thumb glide over Jemma’s forehead.

“And _amazing_ selfie-skills, might I add!” Daisy remarks. She pats Fitz on the shoulder and adds, “Okay, I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick too. If the pizza shows up, just sign for it. I already pre-paid.”

“Uh-huh,” Fitz replies, not taking his eyes off the picture on his phone.

It takes him a few more minutes before his brain seems to be working again and his fingers comply in typing a reply:

> _I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed._

He chuckles when he sees three little dots informing him that she’s typing.

> _So you’re still offering to take me out for a bundle of hay? ;)_

Fitz exhales sharply, his heart beating excitedly at the thought of seeing her again. But somehow he can’t resist the temptation to continue their playful conversation a little while longer.

> _I’d love to. But I have to be completely honest with you. It was all a farce._

He feels nervousness creeping up his spine when she doesn’t respond right away. And when the three dots finally appear, he worries that maybe the idea he had, had been a mistake.

> _What do you mean?_

Okay, that was neutral enough. Didn’t sound entirely panicked or angry on her side. Maybe she had sensed that he was working up to a punch line. After all, who uses the word _farce_?

> _I wasn’t wearing half a horse costume. I was actually wearing a “sweaty guy wearing half a horse” costume._

…

> _Is that so? ;)_

Fitz shifts excitedly when he sees her reply. Quickly, he goes to the browser on his phone. When he’s found what he’d been looking for, he goes back to his message inbox and adds the image he’d saved.

> _Yep, this is what I really look like…_

 

A moment later, Fitz’s phone rings. He laughs and picks up. “Yes, hello,” he says as if he didn’t know exactly who was on the other end.

“Well, now I _definitely_ think you’ll look quite dashing in your _Doctor Who_ outfit,” Jemma says cheerily.

Fitz chuckles. “Tell you what, go to the _Beauty and the Beast_ movie with me dressed as Belle, but without the weird mask and I’ll wear my Doctor Who outfit to the date!” he suggests.

“You want to wait until _March_ to go out with me?” Jemma asks.

“I didn’t say that,” Fitz counters, realizing that he’d forgotten when the movie would premiere. “But I’ll need a month to get comfortable enough to wear my _Doctor Who_ outfit in front of you.”

“I’m sure I can be patient,” Jemma replies. “So, what will we do until then?”

“How about dinner when you come back from your conference?” Fitz suggests, feeling way more confident than he had ever felt when asking somebody out. “Do you like Indian food?”

“I most certainly do,” Jemma replies. “How about I give you a call when I’m back in town and we can discuss the details?”

“Sounds perfect,” Fitz says enthusiastically. “And ummm, safe travels. Looking forward to hearing all about the conference adventures of a strong, independent, highly intelligent, well-read young woman with goals and aspirations _beyond_ romance.”

He hears her chuckle at the other end. “Well, goals and aspirations beyond romance may be correct, but she _definitely_ thinks there should be a little bit of room for romance as well, seeing that there’s a not-too-shabby-looking beast with a ‘sweaty guy owning half a horse’ costume involved.”

“Beast with a ‘sweaty guy owning half a horse’ costume _and_ a Doctor Who costume,” Fitz corrects her.

“Naturally,” she replies, and Fitz hears her sighing deeply. “I should really head to bed now. The early flight and—”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fitz replies, considering it unnecessary for her to explain herself any further. “Good night, Jemma. And safe travels. And I very much look forward to hearing from you again when you get back.”

“Well, maybe you’ll hear from me before then,” Jemma teases, bringing a smile to his face.

“Even better,” he replies.

“Good night, Fitz,” she says quietly, before continuing with an enthusiastic, “Oh! And if you have any, I’d recommend taking some ibuprofen or acetaminophen before bedtime. It might help with your back pain.”

Fitz chuckles. “Duly noted,” he replies. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispers, and hangs up, leaving Fitz staring happily at his phone screen.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s their usual Sunday morning brunch hangout at Fitz’s and Jemma’s. Peggy is munching on the first batch of pancakes while Daisy’s husband, Trip, is getting the next batch ready, whistling quietly as he flips the pancakes on the griddle. Daisy is sitting at the table next to Peggy, stretching her legs out under the table to give her large belly some room. Jemma is bouncing their two-year-old, Iain, on her hip, while pouring Daisy a cup of coffee. Fitz is leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of tea in his hand.

“And you’re sure?” Jemma asks in disbelief, handing Daisy the coffee cup.

“Abso-freakin’-lutely,” Daisy confirms. “They were _holding hands_ in the elevator and being all flirty and smiley and cootsycoo with each other. Back me up here, Trip!”

“They sure were,” Trip replies, turning halfway to face the table and gesturing with his spatula.

“Quite astonishing,” Jemma remarks. “I mean, as far as I know, Phil and Melinda met more than fifteen years ago when they both started working in the same department. And they were certainly very close friends when _I_ met them, and they’ve had their flirtatious moments and _occasionally_ I wondered if maybe there was more to it… but to think that after all this time, they’d finally get their act together and—”

“Hook up?” Daisy finishes. “Yeah, I know. But good for them, right?”

“What’s ‘hook up’, mum?” Peggy interrupts.

Jemma shoots Daisy an annoyed look. “When two people fall in love,” she explains matter-of-factly, and it is enough to satisfy the six-year-old’s curiosity.

“Well, _of course_ it’s good for them,” Jemma continues. “Some people just need time to figure things out.”

“Yeah, right,” Daisy chimes in. “Not everyone falls head-over-heels after thirty seconds like you guys,” she teases, nodding towards Fitz and Jemma.

“Well, _you’re_ one to talk,” Fitz counters. “Or are you forgetting how quickly you and _Hottie_ over there got things moving after you met?” He gestures at Trip with his head, who turns around and grins mischievously.

“Umm, yeah, we still took things _way_ slower than you two British steam engines,” Daisy jokes.

“Please,” Jemma interrupts them. “First of all, this is _not_ a who-entered-into-a-relationship-faster competition… even though admittedly, I think we would win, Fitz. And second of all, this is hardly appropriate conversation in the presence of children!” she adds, gesturing at Peggy and Iain.

“How did you and Daddy meet?” Peggy asks her mother suddenly, widening her eyes and leaning forward.

Jemma looks surprised at her daughter for a moment, then to Fitz to gauge what he’s thinking, but before Fitz can signal a reply, Daisy wiggles excitedly in her seat.

“Oh, let me, let me, let me, let me,” she squeals in a high-pitched tone, raising her hand in the air as if in school, and continues without interruption. “So, it all started when your Dad was my ass.”

“Daisy!” Jemma exclaims, pressing Iain’s confused toddler face against her chest while covering his other ear with her hand.

Fitz tries to recover from almost choking on his tea, sending daggers in Daisy’s direction, who grins widely, while Trip can be heard snickering in front of the stove.

Fitz clears his throat and walks over to Peggy, hunkering down to be closer to her eye level. “How ‘bout we tell you later, _after_ we have a little chat with your Aunt Daisy about her bloody potty mouth.” He glances up at Daisy as he finishes his sentence.

“Fitz!” Jemma scolds her husband.

“Right, right,” Fitz mumbles apologetically and straightens back up, while Peggy looks at him somewhere between amusement, bewilderment, and curiosity.

“We met at a masquerade,” Jemma explains and walks over to the table.

“What’s a masquerade?” Peggy asks.

“It’s like a costume party, except people wear weird ugly dresses and masks with feathers and shit,” Daisy explains.

“ _Daisy Triplett-Johnson_!” Jemma growls.

“Sorry,” Daisy mumbles apologetically, before continuing to address Peggy. “But yeah, it’s all very fancy, but your Aunt Daisy was a bit of a dummy who didn’t read the invitation very clearly, so _she_ thought it was a regular costume party, like for Halloween or something.”

“And she had the _brilliant_ idea to go as a horse,” Fitz continues their story.

“A horse?” Peggy shrieks.

“Yep,” Fitz confirms. “But she needed two people, so _she_ was the front of the horse and _I_ was the back.”

“You were a horse’s bum?” Peggy snickers.

“He was indeed!” Jemma chimes in.

“And that’s where I met your mum,” Fitz concludes.

“Were you a horse, too?” Peggy asks Jemma.

“Gosh no,” Jemma exclaims. “I went as Belle. … with a mask, as you _should_ for a _masqu_ erade!”

“Is that why your wedding cake had Belle and that weird guy in a suit with a broccoli on it?” Peggy continues her interrogation.

“Yes,” Fitz confirms. “And it’s a celery stick. Not broccoli,” he adds shyly.

“Why not Belle and a horse?” Peggy asks.

“Because other than the fact that he met your mum that night, your Dad would rather forget everything else about the evening he spent as your Aunt Daisy’s horse’s bum,” Daisy remarks.

“How did you meet Uncle Trip?” Peggy directs her next question at Daisy.

“At work,” Trip chimes in from the kitchen, turning around to better be part of the conversation. “Although, it wasn’t really until the masquerade that I truly noticed her.”

“Really?” Peggy exclaims, surprised.

“Well, hard to overlook a two-man horse costume at a masquerade,” Trip comments, grinning cheekily.

“Can I go as a horse for Halloween?” Peggy asks, looking expectantly at her parents.

“As long as _I_ don’t have to be a part of it,” Fitz replies. “Be my guest!”


End file.
